


meet me by the hanging tree (but don’t cuz that’d be weird)

by strange_index



Series: how to tell if the 'rock' in your life is a volcano (and how to deal with burns) [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Let me cry, Post-Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, RIP, Unrequited Love, agendered wol, generic WOL - Freeform, im venting about some post-shadowbringer stuff, lets talk about it, no beta we die like the ascian homeworld, zenos is a stalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26628952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strange_index/pseuds/strange_index
Summary: Angsting about Post-Shadowbringers brought me here, so have my sadness:Zenos finds his long lost friend standing by a tree in the savage lands of The Black Shroud. What have they carved into it?(Lmao, no sexy times, just cathartic rage at Squeenix taking my husbands away as soon as i get them, please come back ghost boyfriend TT_TT)
Relationships: Ardbert & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Zenos yae Galvus & Warrior of Light, Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Series: how to tell if the 'rock' in your life is a volcano (and how to deal with burns) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946884
Kudos: 31





	meet me by the hanging tree (but don’t cuz that’d be weird)

“So this is where you have been hiding, my friend.”

The Warrior of Light, now garbed in black from head to toe, didn’t even bother to grace the new Emperor with a glance. Ignored, Zenos zos Galvus continued his stalking closer until he stood not two yalms away from the esteemed hero. 

He noted the Warrior’s attire: a long-sleeved robe down to their ankles (perhaps they are a Mage, at the moment) with gloves and heeled shoes (seemingly impractical, but they are doubtless skilled in fighting with all manner of footwear). Most unusual about the Warrior was their tall hat; reminiscent of a religious figure, it was complete with a black scarf binding it to their head and knotted in the back, leaving a short fabric tail waving behind them at shoulder level. Finally, there was the veil covering their face from the bridge of their nose, down. 

Zenos pulled his gaze from his black-robed rival to the massive tree they were facing in this gods-forsaken swamp. The Warrior had their hand pressed to the trunk just beneath a crudely carved letter in the wood, the inner flesh of the tree bright white against its dark brown bark. If he were someone unaware of the Warrior’s history of slaying eikons, Zenos believed he would suspect them of praying to one of the sleeping beasts.

“For what reason have you secluded yourself here? I had thought the ‘summoning’ of Primals was far beneath you—“

“I’m visiting.”

Zenos’ gaze snapped to the Warrior’s face as they spoke. Their eyes were disappointingly hollow, a somber darkness coloring them dull and lifeless. Still, they did not turn to look at him. 

“Hm. Visiting whom? Have the other savages you surround yourself with managed to get themselves kill—?”

Sudden as a lightning strike, he is flung backward. He easily lands a few dozen yalms away, The Storm ready and waiting in his hand, but the Warrior does not approach. They stare, coldly and with a rabid mania that screams of loss, but they do not draw their weapon. Those eyes heat his blood, calling him to the Hunt, but they are chilling: this Warrior will not indulge him in battle but instead would attempt a slaughter. 

Zenos is almost perturbed when that vicious gaze dims again, becoming empty. However, there remains a spark that had been absent since his arrival; a promise, a threat. The Warrior reaches out to the tree and draws their fingers over the letter one last time. The hero’s voice is hoarse when, after an eternity, they finally answer.

“He did die. The ones who reach out a hand to me usually do.” The Warrior glares at the ground, robbing him of that sharp gaze; cutting, biting, judging, wanting. “Except for you.”

Zenos tenses. The Warrior pulled back their hand to press their fingers to their lips and plant them over the letter in the trunk. The hero turns sharply and those eyes, they’re finally back on him, where they belong; measuring, probing, loathing, promising.

The Warrior takes one step, then two, then they are face to face—and they are passing, walking, leaving, abandoning him. Zenos watches them walk at a sedate, almost arrogant, pace through the shallow waters toward the grotto.

Before they vanish, the Warrior turns and shouts over their shoulder; sneering, laughing, sobbing, biting:

“You were made to torment me.”

And they’re gone. Leaving Zenos staring after them; longing, seething, wasting, alone, itwasunbearablewithoutyou.

The ‘A’ carved in the tree seems to laugh at him.


End file.
